


Partnerships

by corneroffandom



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:06:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corneroffandom/pseuds/corneroffandom
Summary: A glimpse into Takeover/Wrestlemania weekend





	Partnerships

Spud curls his hands into fists, exhaling slowly. It's been a long night. A good night, but yes. Lengthy. He runs through his texts, reading through different results involving his 205 Live members from the Worlds Collide matches that had happened during the Hall of Fame, and yawns softly, unlocking the door to his and Ethan's hotel room. He hesitates in the doorway, letting the light shine into the room enough for him to see.

Ethan is sacked out in bed already, breathing loud and congested. Spud winces, suddenly remembering Ethan's tweets from earlier- as he'd been fussing over his suit, and making sure his shoes were properly shined, and getting ready for the red carpet, Ethan had been talking about _feeling worse_ after his recent Axxess signing. "Bullocks," he mumbles, feeling guilty as he walks inside and closes the door as quietly as he can. Even then, the thing is heavy and makes a loud noise as he pushes it shut. But Ethan barely stirs and Spud's brows furrow even further as he walks over to the bed, brushing a hand down his brow.

"Mph," Ethan sighs, pressing into his touch. "Spud..."

"Hullo, sir," he says softly, kneeling down onto the bed next to him. "Still sick, I see." Ethan is in the Andre the Giant battle royal tomorrow, and at this rate, Spud doubts he'll last in it too long. He sighs and searches through their things, finding another vitamin C packet and a bottle of water, mixing it up for him. "Sir. Sit up," he says, nudging Ethan until he blinks up at him, trying to follow his command. Between the two of them, they make it work and Ethan grumbles, hating the taste of the drink as Spud helps him to drink it. "I know. Yes, yes. But it may make you feel better," he says, rubbing Ethan's sternum as he groggily drinks some more of it.

"I saw you," Ethan mumbles sleepily. "At the Hall of Fame. Stepping over everyone to get that asshole." He smiles crookedly. "Always so brave and unflinching."

He flushes, a little. "Well, someone had to try to get things moving again. I didn't do _that_ much."

"Yeah, you did," Ethan sighs, leaning against him and kissing the corner of his mouth. "You did."

Spud stares at him, brushing some of the hair out of his eyes, deciding to concede just this once. "I suppose I did." Clearing his throat, he takes the glass from Ethan. "Come, now, back to bed with you," he says softly, easing Ethan back down and tucking him in warmly. He kicks his shoes off, stripping out of his sequinned suit quickly, and curls in next to Ethan, holding him until he drifts back off.

-x

"Are you nervous?" Dean wonders.

Seth blinks at the question. _Nervous_. He flexes his fists, stares down at his feet, and ponders it. "Not in the way you might think," he says honestly and Dean quirks an eyebrow at him, sipping lazily from a bottle of water, quietly urging him on. "I'm not nervous about Lesnar. No, that's... that feels straightforward enough to me."

Dean waits. And when Seth doesn't say anything, he finally prompts him. "Then what are you nervous about?"

Seth's shoulders slump, just a little, as he realizes Dean isn't going to let this go. "I... I'm nervous about after," he mumbles, and Dean sits up just a little bit straighter, trying to look at him through the curtain of his hair. When Seth looks up, his eyes are resolute but sad, and Dean swallows hard. "Just... uh. The thoughts of WWE without you, you know?" He digs his fingers into the table between them and Dean wishes suddenly he could take his question back. "Walking into that locker room and you... you not being there..." Seth shakes his head. "I dunno, man. There aren't really words for it."

Their careers had been entwined as far back as FCW, which is a harrowing thought. Dean's not sure how he'll feel waking up morning after morning and knowing that he won't be going to events, seeing everyone, teasing Seth like he's done every week for the last seven years. He swallows hard and stands. Words or no, Seth's face tells a tale, and Dean wants- no, _needs_ \- it to stop. So he walks up to him and cradles his face, staring into his eyes. Miserable, and a little wet, and Dean- Dean presses close and kisses him.

Seth gasps and makes this sharp, keening noise deep in his throat, gripping at Dean's jacket, at his arms, at anything he can clasp onto while Dean grips his hips and pulls him close, muscles relaxing as Seth tentatively kisses him back. There hasn't been time, they haven't really talked about _this_ since Roman's return and the Shield's reunion. "Dean..."

"Seth," he echoes back, gripping Seth's jaw as he continues to kiss him, hungry and desperate for more. Dean pushes Seth back, little by little, following him until he's leaning against the opposite wall, and Dean presses into him, memorizing all of this- the breathless noises Seth keeps making, his eyes fluttering between each kiss, how his body feels under Dean's. Finally, though, Dean pulls back and stares at him, pressing a thumb against his lips as if to inform him this is just a small reprieve. "I may not be in the locker rooms," he says, voice raspy and deep, "but you're not gettin' rid of me that easily." He presses his forehead to Seth's and stares into his eyes. "I love you. Alright? We'll figure it out." He smirks as Seth leans back and closes his eyes. "Besides, I've gotta see the Beast Slayer with his belt first hand, right?"

"Right," Seth says with a faint, shuddering laugh. Opening his eyes, he stares at Dean. "So you really... you really want this to continue? Even once you're out of WWE? I mean... our schedules..."

"We'll make it work," Dean shrugs. "Like we have every other time in the past."

Seth closes his eyes and exhales, clearly trying to accept that it could be as easy as Dean makes it sound. Finally he smiles and shrugs, nothing changing the most simplest of facts between them. "I love you too."

-x

"It's happening," Zack says in awe as he stares down at the Wrestlemania program going through the matches on the card. "We're getting a title match. Yes!" He hops out of bed and throws his fist in the air while Dolph laughs at him, tugging him back down. "Bro," he says, his face shining happily. "I didn't think I'd get the chance, but we are- we're gonna beat Hawkins' losing streak _at_ Mania and become tag champs again!"

Dolph smiles at him, fanning his fingers out over Zack's face, kissing him lightly. "Of course you are, broski." The Revival are tough, but Zack is too, and Hawkins... well, Hawkins is motivated, and Dolph thinks they might honestly have a chance. "Another Wrestlemania moment for you, huh?"

"Yeah," Zack breathes, leaning into him. "Definitely. You're gonna be watching, right?"

Dolph scoffs and laughs at him. "Of course I am, you think I'm gonna miss your big victory? Nah." He taps Zack on the cheek. "Besides, I need to see what ridiculous gear you're wearing this year, since you wouldn't even give me a peek at it."

Zack beams at him. "I'm sure you'll like it."

"I imagine I will," Dolph says. "Too bad Dream already stole your gimmick with the Statue of Liberty at Takeover Friday-"

Zack huffs out a frustrated laugh at the mention of that and leans in, kissing Dolph hard to shut him up about gear choices. "You'll see on Sunday," he promises.

"Mm," Dolph concedes. "Fine, broski. Fine." He looks forward to it, especially when Zack's got the tag titles around his waist to accentuate it.

-x

Heath is _heated._ Even now, with the Hall of Fame being hours ago. He flexes his fingers into fists and paces around in the cool evening air, trying to relax. God, so many things could've gone so wrong, all because of one dumb fan. He wants to hit something, he wants to yell out and scream, but he can't because fans are everywhere with cameras, and... Long, strong, familiar arms wrap around him and he exhales shakily, leaning back into Wade's warmth. "There you are," he says, nuzzling into Heath's neck. "Are you alright?"

"No," he grouses. "I wanna... I wanna _fight,_ but there ain't nothin' to fight." He turns frustrated, angry eyes up to Wade and hisses out a breath through his nose. "Bret coulda seriously been hurt tonight, and I... I couldn't do anythin' about it."

"Seemed to me you did all you could," Wade tells him. "I'm sure Bret and Nattie appreciated you being there." Heath shrugs, squirming in his arms, and Wade thinks for a moment as he holds him tightly. "Come with me, I've got an idea," he says, letting Heath go just to reach out and grip his hand instead.

"Where-?" Heath asks, but allows himself to get dragged through the New York streets until Wade finds what he wants. "A gym?" he mumbles.

" _This_ gym," Wade says as he pushes the doors open and follows Heath inside, "has a ring." Heath blinks, not registering it, and Wade explains, "We're gonna get rid of some of that tension you're holding onto here."

Heath shakes his head. "Man, you ain't competed in years, I ain't gonna-"

Wade huffs. "I'm not some delicate flower that's gonna fall apart if you take a swing at me, Heath. Now come _on._ I am not taking no for an answer, and dealing with you like this for the rest of the night."

Heath hisses out a breath and follows him to the locker rooms, getting out of his suit and changing into the gym wear that Wade throws at him. They get into the ring and almost immediately, Wade notices that he's a little more comfortable, testing the ropes, sprinting from left to right against the ropes. "Better?" he asks.

"Yeah," Heath mumbles, taking a swing at thin air and smirking slightly. "Better." Then Wade hits him. Nothing rough, or enough to bruise, but just a warning shot, and Heath immediately stands up straighter. "Hey, what the hell?"

"Well, come on then," Wade smirks at him, the old familiar challenge welling up in his blue eyes. Before, Heath never had a chance, Wade's bareknuckle fighting background working against him despite his own history, but now, Wade's not properly fought since leaving the WWE, and Heath's been hitting the gym more, trying to be _better_ for his career, stronger for his school, and things are more even between the two of them as Heath ducks a swing and comes up with one of his own, barely missing as Wade steps back. Heath pushes forward, swinging again, and this one just clips the side of Wade's jaw as he grimaces and surges forward, hitting Heath enough to rock him backwards.

Heath grits his teeth, plants his feet, and Wade reminds himself that this was the entire point of it, to help Heath- and then Heath is on him, hitting him along the back and chest repeatedly, and it's not really proper fighting form, the strikes are barely strong enough to sting, but it's enough as Heath's energy eventually fails him and he slumps into Wade, breathless and shaking. "He coulda died," he whispers, the anger finally drained from him and leaving him breathless and subdued. "Right there in front of everyone..."

"I know," Wade whispers back, shifting so he can hold Heath, run his fingers through his bright hair. "But he didn't. Everything's ok. They got the bastard, and he's gonna pay for this."

Heath nods, tilting his head up to look at Wade. "Yeah. Yeah." He swallows hard. "Thank you."

"Any time, ginger," Wade says softly, leaning in to kiss him. "Any time."

-x

Johnny's pleasure at finally getting one up on Tommaso, standing over him and laughing as his plans fall into place- now he can wrestle Tommaso at Takeover, now he can _properly_ earn the title that he's hungered for for well over a year- falls apart as quickly as it'd come. Tommaso needs neck surgery, Tommaso's future is uncertain, Tommaso... Tommaso has to give up the title. So now, instead of wrestling _him,_ Johnny will be wrestling Adam Cole for a forfeited title, and... He shakes his head, gritting his teeth. It's not fair. As much as Tommaso has hurt him, he can't help but feel a little shaky and weak when he thinks about everything Tommaso has lost- the knee injury, the shoulder surgeries, now this. It's not _fair._

His revolving thoughts fade away as he walks up to his apartment to find Tommaso himself standing there, an exhausted look on his face. A quiet resignation as he looks up to find Johnny staring at him. "I'm not going to... I'm not going to do anything," he says quietly and Johnny blinks, realizing that he believes it. "Can we talk?"

Johnny doesn't move. "Well, talk," he says, motioning at Tommaso.

"Inside?" he asks and Johnny looks away, for a long, tense moment, before brushing past him and unlocking the door. They sit at the couch where they used to watch movies together, the echo of Ciampa's laugh still held within these walls, how he would react to horror movies, everything. "I screwed everything up," he says faintly, staring at his hands. "I've had time to sit and think about it all. I... I enjoyed partnering with you again. Surprising you with the DIY music, wearing our old shirts, doing our moves again." He licks his lips, looks away. "It was... it was too much. I needed to put a stop to it when we lost because I was in so much _pain._ Physically, emotionally. I don't even know where one ended and the other began."

Johnny exhales hard. He's felt like that in the past, desperate, nothing feeling _good_ anymore. "Did you know your neck was that bad, when...?"

"Yeah," Tommaso mumbles. "Yeah, I did. I thought I could... I could hold on until Mania, but." His lips twitch up into the saddest smile Johnny's ever seen from him. "You see how that worked out for me."

Johnny nods, emotions choking him. "Yeah," he says. "I... I do." He wants to say so many things but they're all trapped in his chest, unwilling to be vocalized.

"My surgery is in a couple of days," Tommaso says quietly. "They tell me if everything goes well, I can fly out for Wrestlemania weekend next month." Johnny stares at him, unsure why he's saying this. "I know... I know you and Candice aren't going to like this, but I want to... I want to be there. To see you win." His lips twitch, just a little, and his eyes look so deep, so tired. "That belt should've always been yours, Johnny. I was just holding onto her for you, I know that. If things were different, you would've won her from me, and you could've had your moment, and I could go on to have neck surgery afterwards knowing I'd done all I could possibly have done. I... I won't be involved in the way I thought I would've been, but at least I'll be able to witness it one way or another."

Johnny swallows. Realizes, despite everything, that he wants Tommaso there. And not to brag to him or rub it in his face afterwards. He wants him there because he'd enjoyed the DIY reunion too, no matter how it fit into his plans in the end. When he says as much, Tommaso stares at him. "I want you there too," he repeats and watches as Tommaso's shoulders relax, an incredulous smile crossing his face.

"Then I'll be there," he says softly, the two of them exchanging glances heavy with the beginning stages of forgiveness and understanding.

-x

"I think I'm starting to like this sofa too much," Aleister mumbles, curled up on the purple draped monstrosity that Dream had been sprawled out on for NXT television the week prior. It had been brought back to his house and put in a place of great importance, and now they're settled upon it, lazy and enjoying the afternoon while they wait for their flights out to New Jersey.

"It is nice, isn't it?" Dream asks softly, brushing his fingers through Aleister's hair. When Aleister makes a soft, deep noise in response, Dream puts his phone down and rolls over onto his side, the ever present North American title cool against Aleister's hip. "So," he says quietly. "Big tag title matches for you this week."

"Yes," Aleister says quietly, quirking an eyebrow when Dream continues to search his face. "What?"

"I am just curious. If you win the NXT tag titles, I suppose this means you won't be leaving any time soon." Dream hadn't talked about it much, Aleister's move onto the main roster without him, but Aleister knows it's a rough subject for him.

"I suppose," he hedges.

"Hmm. Alright. Yeah, that works." But then he pauses. "If you do lose..."

"The draft is in a couple weeks," Aleister says hesitantly. "We have been in talks with the McMahons, they're going to place us on one brand or the other then."

"Right," Dream says, a frown marring his face. "Right. Of course. I mean, why wouldn't they." But his mind is still working, and Aleister lightly strokes his stomach, feeling his ab muscles twitch and shiver under his ministrations. "Then again, if, by some ridiculous twist, I lose my North American title to that ridiculous man, then perhaps they will call me up too during that draft."

Aleister isn't sure about that. Dream is young, and NXT can't lose _everybody._ The sudden departure of himself and Ricochet, mixed with Tommaso Ciampa's injury, feels like enough. "I wouldn't plan on that though," he chides him. "Don't do anything rash and lose the belt on purpose just to try to get Vince's attention or anything else." He sits up and cradles Dream's face. "I know you want to be called up, you've made that quite obvious, but you have _so_ much time, and you're _so_ important to NXT right now. I mean, think about it, without Ricochet, Ciampa and I, the spotlight is going to be even more focused on you now."

Dream scoffs. "The spotlight has _always_ been focused on the Dream, thank you very much." But he hesitates and looks away. "I know you're right," he mumbles. "It's just..." He squirms and Aleister waits patiently. "I'm going to miss you."

Ah. The crux of the matter, right there. They will see each other a lot less once Aleister is on the main roster full time. "I'm going to miss you too," he says softly, guiding Dream's face back over so he can look him in the eye. "But it changes nothing for me, whichever brand I end up on. Whatever happens with our title matches, win or lose. Whenever I come home, I'm coming home to you. To sit on this couch and watch you play with your phone, or to meditate with you, or..." He smirks, leaning in to kiss Dream slowly, feeling his fingers twitch against his arm. "We're going to be ok. I have no doubt about that."

Dream exhales. Nods. "Alright then. You'd better mean what you say."

Aleister smirks at him, leaning in close and hesitating just over his lips. "When do I not, Patrick?" Dream's responding huff is muffled when Aleister kisses him again, deeper and longer this time.

-x

"It could've been us," Aiden's voice breaks into his thoughts. Rusev frowns and looks up, blinking at his former partner. "Out there, fighting for the tag titles tonight."

He stands up straighter and walks towards him. "Yeah, it coulda been," he admits, accent heavy as he looks over Aiden. "I wonder why it's not."

Aiden exhales roughly, staring at him. "You know why it's not."

"So do you," Rusev says, shrugging dispassionately. "It was not my choice, Aiden. You made things weird."

He barks out a laugh. "I made things weird... man, I tried so hard for so long, and you did nothing but made me feel like shit. Everything was my fault, I couldn't do anything right." He shakes his head, eyes downcast. "You know I loved you, right? I would've literally done _anything_ for you, and it still wouldn't have been enough. So yeah, I snapped, and I regret it, and I've had to live with it ever since." He looks up at Rusev. "Are you at least happy? With Shinsuke?"

Rusev looks away. Shrugs. "He's alright." But there's a tone in Rusev's voice, one that makes Aiden's frown deeper, and when Aiden motions for him to explain, Rusev rolls his eyes. "He... he's _interesting,_ but I don't... I don't _get_ him..." he struggles to find the words and finally meets Aiden's eyes. "He's not you."

Aiden swallows hard, something fierce and brutal that feels like hope slamming into him. "Oh," he says, voice strangely highpitched. He clears his throat as Rusev smirks at him. "I... I, uh. Right." Rusev looks away and that hope takes on something deeper, more desperate. _Need._ "Do you wanna... uh. Maybe we could..." Aiden flounders a moment longer, trying to keep Rusev from walking off. "Let's get some catering or something. Talk some more. If you want."

Rusev looks at him, exhales softly. "Yeah, ok," he says, and Aiden's entire face lights up. As they walk side by side to the doors, Rusev quirks an eyebrow at him. "I'm just curious. Is your password still ILoveRusev?"

Aiden's laugh is sharp and nervous and is all of the answer Rusev needs as they push the doors open and walk through.

-x

Aleister and Ricochet had lost. But in the grand scope of things, losing the NXT tag titles, as much as it hurts, because it means their chapter in NXT is officially done and over with, is just a prelude to what's to come because they have the Smackdown titles to fight for on Sunday. They'll be closing one chapter and opening another and Ricochet both dreads and looks forward to it, because he had legitimately loved his time in NXT and the main roster is still something of an unknown entity to him despite spending the last month there.

For now, though, someone else deserves attention and he waits patiently in the hall, watching HHH kneel by Pete Dunne, talking to him quietly. He'd held the UK title for the better part of two years, only just losing it tonight to Walter, and Ricochet can only imagine how he must be feeling. Once HHH finally gets up and leaves, nodding at Ricochet as he passes, Ricochet takes his opportunity and walks over, sitting where HHH had just been sitting. "Hey," he says softly, and Dunne barely moves, just shakes his head quietly and sips from a bottle that HHH had left for him.

"I can't do this right now," he says, voice shaky and dark. "Just... let me be." He had tolerated HHH's attempts at comfort, but it's clear now that that's all he can stand.

"We don't have to talk," Ricochet says, not moving, just sitting there, trying to be a comforting presence for Dunne. He doesn't even blink or move when Pete eventually sits up straighter, cringing as his body protests being in one position for so long. Even then, Ricochet doesn't say anything, just stares ahead blankly as Pete eyes him.

"I suppose that's it for you then," he says dully, and Ricochet finally looks over at him. "Heading up to the main roster permanently now."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "That's pretty much it." He feels tears welling up in his eyes again and looks away, not wanting to cry in front of Pete Dunne, of all people. "I'm gonna miss it. A lot."

Dunne nods slowly, understanding on some level. He'd had to adjust to the sudden movement from NXT to NXT UK himself. It hadn't been the easiest of transitions. "I suppose it will miss you as much."

Ricochet blinks, then smiles weakly. "Yeah, I suppose it may." They sit quietly for awhile longer, Dunne trying to stretch sore muscles out. "You've been to the trainer?"

"Of course I've been to the trainer," he mumbles, unimpressed. "Just sat here too long." He stands and Ricochet stares up at him, certain he's just going to walk off then. "I need some air." He turns to leave, his boots loud on the tile floor, and then he pauses, casting a glance over his shoulder. "Are you coming then, or what?"

Ricochet blinks, hard, then scrambles to his feet. "Oh, uh, sure." They walk side by side quietly outside, and Ricochet stares at the outline of Pete's face in the shadows, a grim look overwhelming his usually stoic features.

Ricochet thinks maybe, just maybe, NXT isn't the only one that's going to miss him.


End file.
